hour on the jibboom, while our dutchmen sang
on the top gallant forecastle. Could hear an accordion
making music for the little brig. the occasional
rattle of anchor chains, talking, the splash of
porpoises, and water rippling against the ships.
So many lanterns gave our bay quite the appearance
of a village by candle light. Our neighbors who
have spent the day here, have apparently not lost
it. This P.M. saw them out sailing in a fine little
boat. I do want to see those girls. the very thought
of them has sent me to the medicine locker very
often. but somehow couldn’t get beyond the
looking glass door. 9 P.M. Just took my last look
about the ship before bed. Tom walks the poop. Another
man watches forward while Mr. Nelson dozes in my chair.
on the roof. Dew is falling heavily and the air is fragrant
with land. laden also with the “noise of many waters”,
and every half hour vibrating at touch of the Bells.
Poe  might have added another stanza to his poem
had he lived to pass this night in Mew Bay. Our wheel
seems to enjoy its liberty, has not been unhanded till
now since leaving N.Y.